


Whatsoever I've Feared

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Memories, Prison, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter always wondered about Neal's time in prison. When he finally asks, he gets an answer he wasn't expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatsoever I've Feared

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://frith-in-thorns.livejournal.com/profile)[**frith_in_thorns**](http://frith-in-thorns.livejournal.com/)'s [prompt](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/68051.html?thread=656339#t656339) at the [](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/profile)[**whitecollarhc**](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/) Angst-a-palooza. Fills the "captivity" square in my [](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com/)**angst_bingo**. Title stolen from Soundgarden.
> 
> Please see the end note for some additional warnings if you want more information.

Peter was drunk, drunker than Neal had ever seen him, drunker than Peter had intended to get, Neal was sure. He was in his own territory, spread out on the couch with Elizabeth curled up asleep next to him, and maybe it was the combination of a long, exhausting week and the truly excellent whiskey June had sent for Peter's birthday that let Peter relax enough for the liquor to hit him hard.

"You know those things you always think about? Always wonder?" Peter asked, his words softly slurring.

"I do." Neal took a measured sip of his own drink.

"I wonder about you."

Neal blinked. "That's not a surprise, I guess. You want to know what I did before you caught me, how many alleged crimes you didn't catch."

"No, I mean--" Peter stopped, rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, yes. But I think about you in prison sometimes."

"I'm sure that makes you very happy," Neal said patiently.

"No." Peter shook his head emphatically. "No, I wonder if--" Peter stopped then continued, his voice softer. "If anything ever happened to you in prison? Anything really bad. I would hate--"

Neal felt flushed with an angry kind of shame, but he closed his eyes as Peter talked, let it go. "Peter. Stop," he said gently. "You're asking me if I was sexually assaulted."

Peter looked down, nodded.

"You can stop worrying. I wasn't."

Peter looked up. "Really?"

"Really. I was knocked around some at the beginning. Threatened. Nothing I couldn't handle." There had been bruises and sleepless nights, but the same could be said of some times in his life both before and after prison. Of course, being in prison meant he couldn't run, but he'd made it through and that was all that mattered.

"Just at the beginning?" Peter's face was hopeful and disbelieving.

Neal sighed. "Surviving in prison is a learned skill like anything else. Some people get so good at it that they're not suited for anything else."

"Not you."

"No. But think of prison like being on _Survivor_." Neal waited until Peter nodded. "I'm good at the social game. Really good at it. I kept myself safe."

"Really?"

"I'm trying not to be insulted here, Peter."

Peter rubbed his hands over his face. "Sorry. Should've known, I guess, that the charmed life of Neal Caffrey would continue even behind bars."

The words and the bitter tone stung, and Neal looked away. The remnants of whiskey in his mouth tasted coppery, a ghost of blood on his tongue, and for a moment he felt himself weighed down, his lungs compressed, breathing impossible. He swallowed hard and then inhaled slowly and deliberately against the phantom weight before speaking. "Just because I survived doesn't mean it was like a vacation on the Cote D'Azure."

"What happened?"

"I told you--"

"No. I know your face Neal." Peter's eyes were sharp, almost sober-looking, but then he moved his hand around in small circles as if sketching Neal's face in the air. "I know your face. Something happened."

Neal worked to keep his expression steady as he pulled in a breath against the invisible weight on his chest, the feeling of cold tile on his back instead of the soft chair he was sitting in. "A lot of things happened; it was four years."

"I know your file. I know you got twelve stitches for an injury you got working in the prison food service. I know you spent almost a week in the infirmary with a norovirus. Now I know there was something else, and I can't help thinking the worst. I can't help it."

Neal knew better than to be surprised that Peter had his file memorized, but his mind still stuttered at the reminder. "Something happened, okay? But it didn't happen to me, not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a friend, as much as people can be friends in there. He was a few years younger than me, about three times my size, not very bright. But he liked me"

" _Neal_."

"He was doing time for grand theft auto, and he probably shouldn't have been in there at all. From the way it sounded he was the only one the police caught, and he was too dumb and too loyal to turn on the brains behind the operation. He wasn't dangerous, but he was big enough that nobody wanted to give him any trouble."

"And you took advantage of that."

Neal breathed in against the pain of that. "It seemed like it was mutually beneficial, at the time. I was helping him figure out some of bureaucracy of prison, and he was trying to get ready to take the GED. I helped him understand the material he was studying; he kept me safe just by sitting there. I didn't know--" Neal looked away, biting his lip until the tang of blood in his mouth might have been real.

"Neal." Peter's voice was softer, almost apologetic.

"Then a group of prisoners transferred in from out of state, and this one guy, he decided that the best way to prove he was tough was to take me from Billy."

Peter flinched at the word _take_. "He didn't--"

"He didn't because Billy put himself in front of me, and what he got for that was a shiv in his stomach. His--" Neal broke off, nausea sitting at the back of his throat. He gestured at his own midsection, not wanting to describe the man shoving his hand into the hole he'd made, unable to come up with the words for the things he pulled out or for the lost, surprised look on Billy's face before he fell. "He fell on me, and I couldn't move him. I don't know how long it took the guards to figure out there was a problem, but it felt like a long time."

"God, Neal." Peter's voice was little more than a whisper. Neal heard the pity in it, and he hated that, hated it even more from the man who'd put him there.

"I wasn't hurt. I learned my lesson about making friends in there, stuck to making deals to keep myself safe."

"I'm sorry," Peter said, sounding like he meant it.

"It was a long time ago." Neal swallowed against the sick feeling in his stomach, but it only grew stronger. "Just a minute," he mumbled, then stood and jogged up the stairs.

He was kneeling on Elizabeth's thick cotton bathmat, trying to push back the memories he'd kept closed up in a corner of his mind for so long. The intestines and fat and blood that should have been inside Billy's body, the animal sounds he made, the stench, the weight of him falling and pulling Neal down, pinning him under 400 pounds. Dead weight. Dying. The panic of not wanting to breathe and not being able to breathe, but needing to do it anyway, struggling.

He couldn't even puke, his throat and stomach locked up tight, and he startled, banging his elbow on cold porcelain at the touch of Peter's hand on his back. "Hey," Peter said quietly, crouching down next to Neal.

Neal took a long breath in through his nose and let it out slowly, relaxing back into Peter's hand. The knot in his stomach loosened, and Neal turned himself around to lean against the side of the bathtub, his eyes closed as he focused on calming down. He felt something cold against his hand and opened his eyes to see Peter sitting in front of him, holding out an open can of Coke and looking far more sober than he had downstairs. Neal accepted it and took a few sips, letting it settle his stomach.

"Thank you," Neal said when he felt like he could talk again, surprised at how rough his voice sounded. "I thought it would've been you hugging the toilet tonight."

Peter offered a small smile. "The night's not over yet."

Neal sighed, feeling like he wouldn't mind sleeping right there on the bathmat even if he didn't feel sick anymore. "It should be."

"Okay." Peter stood up and held his hand out. Neal hesitated for a moment then reached up and let Peter haul him to his feet. "You're sleeping here tonight, no arguments."

Neal opened his mouth to argue anyway but found he didn't have the energy. "As long as you promise to make me breakfast in the morning."

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head then dug in the linen closet for a spare toothbrush and handed it to Neal.

"I'm okay, really. I just hadn't thought about it in a long time."

Peter looked at Neal for a long moment and then nodded. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for asking."

Neal tilted his head in acknowledgment. "At least now you can stop wondering."

"Right," Peter said, looking down as Neal turned around to walk into the guest room. "Right."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Past violence, some gross details, discussion of rape (no actual rape)
> 
> This story has a timestamp [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2166360/chapters/4737618).


End file.
